


In Sickness And In Health

by jonbsims



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Caretaking, M/M, Sickfic, Whump, Worship, but a gentle creep, elias is a creep, from being sick, jon is delirious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:27:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22445584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonbsims/pseuds/jonbsims
Summary: Jon isn't good at taking care of himself.  Luckily, he has many people that care deeply for him.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 6
Kudos: 171
Collections: The Magnus Archives Rare Pairs 2020





	In Sickness And In Health

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thespicybabe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thespicybabe/gifts).



Jon hadn’t noticed the heavy, dark clouds that threatened the whole of London as he got ready for the day. He barely even noticed the way his own body felt, let alone the weather forecast, so when he went to head to the train station, he didn’t have an umbrella on him.

When the rain started, it was but a drizzle, leaving him with flecks of clear, bright water all over him like dewdrops. He blinked rapidly several times, clearing the droplets off of his eyelashes. It didn’t last for long, though - the following heavy rain left him looking like a particularly drenched rat, his clothes clinging and chafing uncomfortably on his thin frame. He ignores this as he boards the train.

When he finally gets to the institute, he ignores Martin’s concerns - Tim and Sasha’s jiping. He does accept the cup of hot tea, though. 

(It helps the feeling of coldness in his bones recede, not that he would ever tell Martin that.)

And so he holes up in his office, taking off his soaking jacket and letting the dry air of the Archives seep into his clothes. On a basic level he realizes that isn’t enough, but in any case, he doesn’t have the time to be quibbling over things like damp jeans. It’s his fault for not realizing it would rain anyway.

People come and go, get their assignments, give updates - deliver more tea - and the day, with the help of a statement, goes quickly.

He doesn’t even notice when it’s long past Institute hours, not that he would particularly care. The windowless basement, filled with overhead lamps that buzz away at all hours, does not exactly give way to keeping track of the time. Especially when one is so absorbed in his work. He doesn’t notice that the lack of hot tea on his desk gives way to a deeper chill in his body, that the headache from the bright lights is even more debilitating than normal, or the way he can’t seem to focus on any of the words in the document he’s trying to read.

It goes without saying that he does not notice the door creaking open.

“Jon.”

The archivist yelps, swiveling in his seat to see who has apparently snuck up on him. The abrupt movement hurts, his vision briefly blacking out and leaving him quite disoriented. He shakes it off.

“Elias - I, err, wasn’t expecting you,” he says calmly.

Elias steps closer, one hand by his side, one gliding along a box of assorted statements, as if carressing it. His expression is as unreadable as ever.

“I was merely coming in to check in on you, make sure you’d gone home. Apparently, I was right to do so, seeing as you’re still here.” He’s suddenly much closer, close enough to grab Jon. “Are you alright, Jon? You’re looking rather flushed.”

Jon flinches, blinking rapidly.

“I’m fine, you needn’t worry. I’ll go home later. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

He doesn’t have any time to turn back to his work before Elias reaches his hand out, pressing it to his forehead. Without thinking, he leans into the touch - it’s so cool, it feels so good against his skin... As soon as he catches himself he jerks away, causing his head to throb violently.

“You’re burning up. You need to rest. You need to go home, and this is not a request.”

Jon scoffs.

“You’re not my mother. You don’t need to mother hen me, I can take care of myself.” He grits his teeth. “I don’t have time to rest when Jane Prentiss is out there.”

Elias tilts his head, looking mildly disappointed.

“I know Jane Prentiss is out there, that’s why we’ve instated several security measures. You need to trust that I’m doing everything I can to keep you - and your assistants - safe.”

“Not safe enough,” Jon slurs, his vision starting to spin, “now if you’ll excuse me, I -”

As soon as he stands up, his world abruptly goes black. The next thing he knows, he’s on the floor, his body feels as though it were on fire, his head like someone had bashed it in with a hammer. In this position, he can feel the cold sweat covering him. And Elias standing over him, blocking out the harsh light.

“Jon,” Elias says softly, a halo of fluorescence surrounding him, “I know this is important to you. I know how much you care about this. But you need to take care of yourself.”

Jon blinks blearily, shifting his body.

The man continues. “I know how much Martin being trapped upset you, but you know this isn’t doing him any good. He’s in the other room, you know, worrying himself sick over whether or not you might be home yet. If he were to see you now, do you think he would be happy?”

Jon swallows, and he feels how much it hurts now.

“Okay,” he says weakly.

“Great. Now just wait here while I get my coat, I promise I won’t be a minute.”

Jon breaks into a coughing fit trying to sit up, quickly laying back down as dizziness and nausea overtakes him again.

“I don’t -” he coughs, “I don’t remember agreeing to you _escorting_ me.”

“You’re in no state to be going on the trains by yourself, Jon. Hardly. And, as I care for my employees, I’ll be driving you home myself,” Elias says simply.

Jon opens his mouth to argue, but Elias has already briskly walked out of the room, so he lets out a quiet whine instead. _He must have felt safe leave me here since I’m practically incapable of going anywhere by myself_ , he thinks bitterly, wishing the overhead lights would stop being so goddamn bright already.

By the time his employer returns, he’s managed to climb back onto his chair - a miracle, probably. He wonders how exactly Elias plans to get him home in a state like this.

“Come now, Jon, get up.”

Despite himself, Jon obeys, even as the room around him spins and his knees shake. He falls straight into Elias’s chest. There’s a hand at his back, keeping him stable. He breathes deeply - not feeling it in him to resist.

“There we go,” Elias says, unusually tender and quiet.

He’s led out of the Institute leaning on the man with a firm grasp on his shoulder. He’s deliriously grateful that no one is present in the building to gawk at the site - he doesn’t think he could manage walking otherwise, but he doesn’t think he could deal with the gossip about things like this would come with either.

The outside air is frigid, as expected, and the icy wind stings as it touches his skin and eyes. He blinks out tears. He’s led to what he assumes is Elias’ car - he doesn’t know much about cars, but it looks vintage and well taken care of. Exactly what he would expect. He’s ushered into the passenger seat and buckled in despite how he protests that he can _buckle himself in, damnit Elias_.

As Elias turns the ignition key, they’re both met with a rush of cold air that quickly turns warm as the engine warms up.

Elias starts driving wordlessly, not even asking Jon what his address is - _is my address in my employment records or something?_ \- so the Archivist instead takes this opportunity to look around. He notices there are several large brown bags filled with groceries in the back, as well as a jug of milk he assumes is fresh. It’s funny, sitting in this car, how he had never considered Elias doing such mundane things as going to the market, or eating breakfast, or preparing dinner. He supposes that neither do his assistants. Such is the way of being someone else’s boss. He wonders if Elias has ever gotten sick.

Before he knows it, they’re parked out in front of his apartment building. He heaves his bag over his shoulder, letting himself out of the car while searching his pockets for his keys. It does not escape him that Elias is also getting out of the car.

He carefully minds his way up the stairs, pointedly ignoring the presence behind him even as he loses balance, nearly falling. He fumbles with his keys more than a few times, painfully aware of his employer staring from behind.

_Does he expect me to invite him in? Be a good host, even after he was so worried about my health?_

Still, Jon manages to open his door without embarrassing himself too much, and he rushes inside. Out of the cold world, into his cold flat. Elias steps in as well, closing the door behind him, looking as put together as ever. The Archivist feels a pang of fear, and he resists the urge to run. There’s no reason to be afraid. Elias is his boss, not an enemy. _Not that there would be anywhere to run if he was._

“Well, I’m safely home, you can go now,” Jon says, even as he wobbles.

“Sit down on your couch, Jon. I’m going to fix you a cup and then I’ll leave.”

Jon takes this as permission to immediately collapse on his tiny sofa, eyes drooping even as he argues. “That’s not necessary, really, you should get going.”

“Hush, my dear. Let me take care of you.”

Elias walking into the kitchen is the last thing he sees before his consciousness fades completely.

His sleep is dreamless and restful.

He’s only woken up by someone gently saying his name, rocking his shoulder.

“Jon. Jon, wake up. I made soup for you.”

Jon yawns as he opens his eyes, blearily looking at the bowl of steaming chicken noodle on the table in front of him, Elias at his side. He’s confused; he doesn’t remember having any canned soup in his cupboards; but he doesn’t argue. With trembling hands he grabs the spoon, carefully bringing it to his mouth and sipping.

“Hurts,” he rasps.

“I know, darling, I know it hurts, but we need to get nutrition in that belly of yours. I know you haven’t eaten all day.”

Jon whine, but eats another spoonful. Elias grabs his chin and brings a glass of water to his lips, and he gulps the cold liquid gratefully.

“There we go. Now finish your soup and we can get you some pain meds.”

Jon hums, almost complains when Elias takes his hand away, instead occupying himself with slurping down the rest of his soup.

“Very good,” Elias whispers, sending a shiver down Jon’s spine as he’s handed the advil.

He washes the pills down with the ice water, before chugging the rest of it, relishing the way the cold feels against his battered throat. Once he’s done, Elias takes the glass from his hand, setting it down on the table. Jon blinks, unsure of what to do now, and then there is a hand on his cheek, cool, that he cannot resist leaning into even as he looks at Elias with confusion.

“Oh, Jon. You really do need to take better care of yourself. You’re important, after all.”

Elias rubs his thumb in soothing circles, and Jon closes his eyes.

“You make us all worry, you know. You work yourself too hard. Push others away. Poor Martin doesn’t know what to do with himself.”

Jon doesn’t know how to respond, so he doesn’t, opening his eyes again and looking up at Elias. Elias smiles and leans forward, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. The Archivist makes a distressed noise.

“You’re gonna get sick.”

Elias chuckles, planting another kiss on his forehead. “Hush, my love.”

Elias looks at him with such a tender expression, it leaves him breathless.

“My Archivist. You’re beautiful. You’re going to be perfect,” he murmurs, reverent and full of awe. “I obviously haven’t been paying you enough attention, but it’s okay. I won’t make the same mistake again.”

Jon is pulled into his arms before melting into the embrace. It’s comfortable, secure. Safe.

“Sleep now, love.”

He wakes up the next morning with a pounding headache. The light that pours in past his curtains feels like an ice pick that’s decided it would like to make his brain its new home, but other than that he feels… Decidedly better than he remembers feeling last night.

Last night.

_‘My dear.’ ‘Darling.’ ‘My love.’ ‘My Archivist.’_

He remembers the look of absolute worship on Elias’s face.

The tender kisses he received.

But, no. That couldn’t have happened.

It must have been his fever addled brain hallucinating. Making up stories of his boss being romantically invested in him. It must have been far too long since he’s been with Georgie. Yes, that was it, he was simply just touch starved.

As he gets ready for work as usual, he notices that unlike usual, his fridge is fully stocked.

**Author's Note:**

> this was very fun to write, even if i procrastinated writing it until the last minute :D


End file.
